‘No, it is not.’ Dita began to gather up her pencils. ‘Alistair is not jealous, he is just territorial and I seem to have become part of that territory.’
‘Oh dear,’ Averil sighed. ‘And I do love a romantic ending.’
‘Never mind.’ Dita conjured up a smile from somewhere. ‘When you are married you can find me just the man.’ If he exists, she thought as Averil, cheered by that idea, smiled.
Chapter Eleven
Alistair took one of the foils from Daniel Chatterton and tested the button on the point. It seemed secure and he brought the blade down through the air with a swish, pleased the weapon was light and well balanced in his hand. They were an expensive pair: Callum must take his fencing seriously.
Word of the bout had spread and most of the passengers were on deck to watch. One young lady had even brought her sketchbook and Dita was perched on a stool, notebook and pencil in hand, her face in shadow under a broad-brimmed hat.
Doctor Melchett had taken command of the wagers, which were growing prodigiously. As no one, except Daniel Chatterton, had any idea of the proficiency of either of them, it was hard to know on what basis people were staking their money.
‘You are the favourite,’ George Latham, one of the more senior Company clerks, remarked as he passed Alistair on his way to a place at the rail. ‘Everyone’s heard about the tiger, no doubt.’ He glanced at Callum, who had discarded his coat and was rolling up his shirt sleeves. ‘Chatterton looks competent though.’
‘I am sure he’ll give me a good bout,’ Alistair said. He did not care if the man was the East India Company’s foils champion, he was not teaching Dita to fence and getting his hands all over her in the process.
‘How is the winner to be decided?’ someone called.
‘It is in the nature of a masquerade,’ Daniel said. ‘Lord Lyndon plays the villain, my brother the hero. They fight over the heroine, played by Mrs Bastable, who sits here.’ He indicated a chair at the foot of the main mast where the lady dimpled and waved to her friends. ‘She is the villain’s captive. To win, one man must either disarm the other, or land a hit that in the opinion of our learned medical advisor—’ Dr Melchett bowed ‘—is fatal or incapacitating, or must obtain the other’s surrender.’
Callum picked up his foil, walked forwards and took his position. Alistair faced him and raised the foil for the salute. As Chatterton’s blade came up Alistair saw the focus in the other man’s eyes and blanked everything beyond his opponent from his mind; however this had started, it was not a game now.
‘En garde!’ Daniel called and the blades touched. Alistair stepped back sharply and Callum cut to his right. So it begins, he thought, watching the other man for balance and strengths, knowing he was being assessed in the same way as they cut and parried, shifting around their circle of deck.
He let his guard waver deliberately, took a touch to the arm that would have been a slash with an unguarded weapon and confirmed his suspicion that Chatterton was weaker on the left foot. But it was a damnably close match. Alistair pinked his opponent on the left shoulder, took another hit on the forearm and then, as Callum was extended from that lunge, shifted his weight and drove him back hard towards the hatch cover.
In a flurry of blows they were toe to toe, face to face, their hilts locked. On either side the spectators drew back, uncertain which way they might move.
‘Just what are your intentions towards Lady Perdita?’ Alistair asked between clenched teeth as they each thrust forwards against the weight of the other.
‘My what?’ Callum gave ground and recovered.
‘You heard me.’
‘Entirely honourable—if that’s any of your damned business,’ he retorted. ‘What are yours?’
Alistair stepped back, lowered his weapon without warning and Callum stumbled, caught out by the sudden shift in weight. Alistair ducked under his guard, there was a sharp flurry of strokes and he had the button of his foil against Callum’s jugular. What the hell are my intentions? ‘Neighbourly,’ he said, showing his teeth. And that’s a lie.
For a long moment his opponent stared into his eyes as though trying to read his mind. Then Callum gave a half-smile, let his foil fall to the deck and spread his hands in surrender. ‘You win,’ he said, then dropped his voice, ‘Just don’t try and run me through if I smile at her, damn it. She’s a delight—and I freely admit that it would take a stronger man than I to take her to wife.’
They went to get their coats, the antagonism between them vanishing as rapidly as it had built. Doctor Melchett was besieged by those who had laid wagers and the two duellists were buffeted from all sides by well-wishers.
When Alistair finally made it to the comparative peace of the poop deck, he found Dita sitting scribbling in her notebook. ‘Was that helpful?’
‘Yes, it was. And extremely exciting.’ She closed the book and looked at him, her green eyes dark and troubled despite the steadiness of her gaze. ‘You have a forfeit for me, I believe.’
‘Yes.’ He had been thinking about that, ever since he had thrown the challenge at her. ‘You will allow me to show you how to defend yourself.’
‘I am not likely to be carrying a sword if I find myself in trouble, Alistair!’
‘No, but you have your teeth, your feet and your elbows and you will usually have a hat pin, or a glass of wine or your reticule.’ He regarded her seriously. ‘You are too attractive, Dita. That and the scrape you got into mean that men will try to take advantage of you when you get to London.’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Surely not. I am not pretty—’
‘I know that. And you know perfectly well how attractive you are, which is an entirely different thing—you didn’t get that way without working at it.’ Dita opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘I will teach you a few fencing moves, as Chatterton could have done perfectly well, but I will teach you to fight dirty, too.’
‘Where, might I ask?’ She sounded outraged, but looked intrigued.